


please.

by funvee



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-28
Updated: 2012-05-28
Packaged: 2017-11-06 04:53:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/414895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/funvee/pseuds/funvee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's point of view of Sherlock's death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	please.

Confusion.  
  
It coursed through his veins as Sherlock’s words slurred around inside his brain. Note? Goodbye?  
  
They clicked into place.  
  
Then, suddenly, the most overwhelming sense of dread washed over him, almost knocking him to his knees. His heart sped up, slowed down and felt like it was pumping mud.  
  
Why would he do this? Why would someone like Sherlock do this? He didn’t care what the media thought. He didn’t care what anyone thought. The man had put himself in jail because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Memories of Sherlock reminding him of how his appearance in the public eye didn’t matter. None of it mattered but the game. Solving the puzzle. Catching the criminal.  
  
So why was his best friend perched on the edge of a building?  
  
His eyes were glued on the figure on the roof.  
  
He begged, _pleaded_. He gave the man every drop of faith that he had. Not once had his trust been shaken. Not once had he thought Sherlock was a fake. Not since that first time. Not since they had lived together, solved crimes together. He had been there. He had seen everything.  
  
Please, Sherlock.  
  
 _Please_.  
  
His words must have been lost on the wind, swallowed by some unknown force. Nothing mattered. Sherlock wasn’t listening. He never listened.  
  
His best friend whispered one last goodbye, threw his phone to the side and took a long step into the air. He shouted, screaming at the detective. Don’t. Don’t do this. It didn’t matter. His body tall and thin and graceful fell down,  
  
                                                             down,  
  
                                                                         down.  
  
He didn’t see the impact, but he didn’t need to. There was only one possible outcome. One final outcome. One devastating, final outcome.  
  
His feet were hitting the pavement before his brain even registered he were moving.  
  
Please, God.  
  
 _Please_.  
  
Please let him live.  
  
The words were his mantra, repeating with the beat of his heart.  
  
He ran right into the street. Traffic be damned. He kept running, kept moving. Maybe if he didn’t stop, maybe if he got there in time, maybe, maybe, maybe.  
  
A cyclist came out of nowhere and they collided, tumbling into the concrete of the street. His head bounced off the street, a cut slicing across his forehead.  
  
Every second felt like an hour. Beat, beat, beat, beat.  
  
He needed to move, but he couldn’t. His limbs wouldn’t, and then suddenly everything slid back into place and moved double time. He pulled himself up and ran, ran for everything he had.  
  
By the time he got to Sherlock, a thousand other people were there, buzzing around. They were checking him, moving him. They were pushing him away, telling him he couldn’t. He was too late.  
  
Didn’t they understand he was a doctor?  
  
Didn’t they understand he could help?  
  
Didn’t they understand he was his friend?  
  
He repeated it.  
  
I’m his friend. He’s my friend. Let me through.  
I’m his friend. He’s my friend. Let me through.  
 _I’m his friend. He’s my friend. Let me through._  
  
It all fell on deaf ears.  
Please.  
  
Please, let a miracle be granted.  
  
Please. _Anything_.  
  
Don’t be dead.  
  
Please.


End file.
